


landing

by spencerdee



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, First Meetings, It's been 87 years and i still can't get over the fact that tracer is a canon lesbian, Mechanic!Emily, When will I stop referring to emily as tracer's home?, probably never
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 11:58:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spencerdee/pseuds/spencerdee
Summary: "Landing," she repeated, a sob ripping through her chest at finally being whole and alive again, "Finding my way back. Having something to come back to." She leaned forward, tasting Emily again for what felt like a lifetime.





	landing

**Author's Note:**

> I know this has been done a million times before, but I couldn't sleep and these two were being cute in my mind. Also, I saw that one pic of Pilot!Tracer and Engineer!Emily and I wanted to write something.
> 
> Obviously I know jack-shit about planes and proper terminology, but I just hope there isn't any glaring mistakes.
> 
> Well, enjoy.

If you asked Lena Oxton what it is that she loved about flying, the answer you'd get would be her eyes widening, glimmering in the intoxicating excitement her mind produced at the very thought of the activity, and a wide, toothed smile spreading on her face. One would expect a spill of words, bubbling from within her and bursting in incomprehensible clauses, but she would breathe in the early morning air and answer with a simple, "Everything."

It was an answer Emily expected, but not from the bright-eyed pilot that waltzed into her hangar, eyes wandering over spare parts carefully organized on boxes and shelves, and smile widening at the sight of a single being put together by the mechanic. It had been Lena's long whistle of appreciation that brought Emily out of her concentration as she hopped out of the cockpit, the music blaring in the background cut off by a quick push of a button.

Now, they stood across each other, Emily's face painted in dirt and oil, and Lena in mint condition, the badge on her jacket displayed proudly on her chest. Overwatch.

"Why fly for Overwatch, then?" Emily asked, mind swimming with images of the experimental fighter in Overwatch's hangars, the very same she'd been asked to work on the previous year. She'd turned her back on it, and with very good reason, and now a spunky girl with hair as wild as her personality walked into her business with the clear intention of being the idiot thrown into something that could very well turn disastrous with the snap of a finger.

Lena shrugged, and countered with, "Why not?" Emily resisted the urge to slap some sense into her.

Instead, she settled for pinchin the bridge of her nose in an attempt to alleviate some of the building headache. "Why come here? If you don't know, I already said no to those fools. That plane is a _death trap_." She shot Lena a look as though that should be enough to have her rip the badge from her clothes and run to the hills screaming. It had no effect.

Lena's grin turned sheepish, and she tugged at the sleeve of her bomber jacket. "That's the thing, yeah? They said you were real good at what you do." She sighed and met Emily's gaze with a smile that the redhead could only describe as charming. "I'd feel better if you looked over it before I have to fly it tomorrow."

Emily always thought of herself as quite the reasonable person. She worked on her projects all while balancing a healthy lifestyle and a thriving social life. She kept the mechanic's creed to heart and had never once failed to comply with it. She respected life, all life, and appreciated the beauty within everyone. Now, here was a young, hotshot pilot, anxiety carefully tucked away beneath an ecstatic grin, asking her to simply look over an aircraft that was more ambitious than sensible. It wasn't an impossible task, seeing as the hangar was actually quite quiet at the moment, and she had no backlog on her tasks.

Still, she narrowed her eyes. "What do I get out of it?" It wasn't as though Overwatch hadn't tempted her with money, and plenty of it, and prestige that was sure to last for longer than she was sure of should the test-run prove fruitful, but this one was here of her own accord, as she doubted Overwatch would want any outsider to go rooting in their little experiment. If she were to comply with Lena's wishes and lessen the risk for the young pilot, then it would require a greater risk on her part.

Obviously, the bubbly brunette hadn't been expecting that. "Eh, umm," she trailed on, lips pursing in thought, looking every bit like a confused pup that Emily resisted the urge to bop her on the nose.

Emily decided to cut her short by taking Lena's hand, after wiping it clean on a piece of cloth. "How about food? I'm starving."

A pale tint of pink rose in her cheeks, and Lena's eyes noticeably brightened. "I can do that!" That smile was back, and Emily couldn't help her own burst of laughter.

* * *

Lena Oxton was not built of subtlety, it seemed, as her giggles echoed in the empty corridor despite Emily's clumsy attempts to silence her. They'd bypassed the security systems by using Lena's own pass and a card that Emily had nicked off of a dozing guard, and stalked into the Slipstream hangar in the cover of darkness.

Emily stumbled in her steps and fumbled with the keycard, and Lena found it terribly funny as a new round of laughter slipped from the fingers covering her lips. The squeaking of shoes in the distance caused Emily's eyes to widen, and she knew that if one of the patrolling guards saw them, it would endanger both of their careers, and perhaps even their lives.

One could not fault Emily for what she did then as in her alcohol-induced state, it seemed the only possible method in silencing the pilot. She pried Lena's hand from her mouth and replaced it with her lips, groaning softly at the taste of wine and something sugary sweet. She pulled back once she was sure the laughter died in Lena's throat, and suppressed the smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips at the sight of Lena's flushed face and wide eyes.

A quick swipe of the keycard that seemed easier now than it had been moments before, and the door hissed open. With a quick tug, Emily pulled Lena inside, where the Slipstream sat by its lonesome, awaiting its heroic pilot in the light of dawn.

Emily squinted in the dark, searching for the light switch so she could proceed with the task at hand, but Lena tugged at her hand, drawing her attention.

A hungry mouth met Emily as soon as she turned, and her back met the metal of the nearby wall with an inaudible thump. Lena's lips melded with hers easily, tongues exploring and hands wandering. A groan echoed in the hangar, but Emily wasn't sure which one of them it came from.

Lena's fingers rose to curl in her hair, and Emily gasped at the sensation of the slight tug, pulling her impossibly closer.

It was the squeaking of footsteps on the hall leading to the hangar that brought Emily out of the haze. Her hands gripped Lena's shoulders and pushed them slightly apart, finger rising to rest on Lena's lips to silence the questioning protests. As soon as the footsteps echoed away, she fixed Lena with a look and reminded, "The Slipstream."

The brunette pulled Emily's hand away from her mouth and laced it togethet with her own as she leaned forward to erase the distance Emily had made. "It can wait," was whispered against the redhead's lips, and at that moment, in the darkness with their hearts beating erratically with the fear of exposure, and something more pleasurable, it seemed like the best idea.

* * *

It was not the best idea.

It was, in fact, the _worst_ idea because when morning came ( _after a bleary-eyed, stealthy escape from the hangars by Emily_ ), Lena Oxton disappeared.

She hadn't heard about it until the afternoon later when she'd attempted to contact Lena, and the feelings of she should have done something, she could have done something fell heavily upon her like sacks of bricks. Marching into Overwatch Headquarters and demanding answers brought her to the company of a talking gorilla - Winston, if Lena's animated stories from the day before was anything to go by.

It was a malfunction, and Emily resisted the urge to empty her stomach. It was a malfunction, and one she was sure she could have prevented. She _would_ have prevented it.

She exited the Headquarters, bitterness flooding her tastebuds, and the words "I told you so" unsaid through clenched teeth and tear-stained eyes.

* * *

Months later found Emily tucked away in her own hangar, a blueprint of the discarded Slipstream project hanging on her wall. Parts littered her floor, and her single dismantled for the scraps it could donate.

Emily was no chronal engineer nor was she a scientist of any kind, but she was an aircraft mechanic with a burning goal, and one that has always stared defeat and failure in the eyes and poked them out with a quick and precise strike. Her own version of the Slipstream fighter sat at the middle of her hangar, still at the barebones, but brimming with potential and a promise.

It was ridiculous, _really_. Her normally rigid schedule destroyed, her social life annihilated, her health deteriorating, and it was all because of one plucky brunette that came into her hanger one fine morning and brought her into a whirlwind of a day. Her friends and co-workers didn't understand, and Emily didn't expect them to. _She_ barely understood it herself, but the feeling of guilt simmered in her stomach and longing stirred in her heart.

She'd get Lena back, if it was the last thing she did.

She pulled back from her work and glanced at the blueprints. Most of the jargon made no sense to her despite the numerous heavy books laid out on the floor, walls of text droning on about theories of time and space and continuum, and Emily's vision swam. She laid back on the cold floor, eyes slipping shut as exhaustion kicked in.

But she had to continue. She had to build her own Slipstream and find out what went wrong with the original one. Maybe, if she did, she could find out where Lena went, because she was sure she wasn't dead. She couldn't be. She had to bring her back. She had to-

"Em?"

Her eyes snapped open and she saw it, a figure looming over her, transluscent like a ghost, but looking every bit like the Lena she remembered. "Lena?" she called out, hand reaching up to touch her, but the image disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Emily's eyes slipped shut as she took a shuddering breath. She saw _her_ , she was sure of it. With a nod, she pulled herself up and got back to work.

She could sleep when she got Lena back.

Winston joined her a few days later, saying something about Lena appearing to him to. Emily waved him off, putting him to work on helping her with the more complex parts of the Slipstream.

He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder and pulled her out of the hangar despite her protests.

"You need to eat. Sleep," he said. "You're not going to bring Lena back like this."

He settles her down on a cot in the staff room, and as much as she tried to fight it, her eyes fell shut of their own accord. "It's my fault," came her slurred words.

Just before she slipped away to the darkness, she was sure she felt a hand brush back her hair, and _that voice_ telling her, "It isn't."

* * *

Emily jotted down diligent notes as Winston and Dr. Ziegler explained their plan to her: something the scientist called a chronal accelerator. She could barely understand the words that they spoke at first, but with every step they took, she learned.

It would bring Lena back, and _keep_ her here.

She could provide very little help to the two as they toiled over the chronal accelerator, except for being a form of anchor for Lena to return to, so Emily continued her own project: the Slipstream. With the added knowledge and help from Winston, the fighter and the accelerator developed side by side, with Lena appearing to her every so often with a stern reminder to take a break, eat, and get some rest.

There were times when Lena would stay for longer, where she could sit on the cockpit of Emily's slipstream without her face turning ashen and grip the wheel without trembling hands. In those times, they would talk, about Lena's life, Emily's life, the past, the future... but never about _that_ day.

Emily saw it in Lena's eyes.

"They want me to try on the chronal accelerator tomorrow," Lena suddenly said, and Emily was struck with a startling sense of deja vu. She urged to place a hand on the pilot's shoulder, some form of comfort, but knew that she wouldn't be able to. Already, she could see parts of Lena fading, and knew that their conversation would soon be cut short.

"I'm scared," Lena continued, head hanging and hair hiding trembling lips and unshed tears. "What if it doesn't work?"

Emily patted the hunk of metal, drawing Lena's eyes to her. She caught Lena's eyes, keeping them, and gave a smile that felt more confident than she had been in months.

"Then I'm flying after you and bringing you back myself." And as Lena's teary laughter slowly faded away, Emily knew it was a vow she held with more honour than even the mechanic's creed.

* * *

If you asked Lena Oxton what it is that she loved about flying, the answer you'd get would be her eyes widening, glimmering with tears that threatened to spill forth at the sight of three people who meant more to her than anything, and a small, shaky smile pulling at her pale lips. One would expect a spill of words, some form of renouncement for the craft that took her and _changed_ her, turned her into a living ghost, but she would raise an unsteady hand and marvel at the lack of blue shimmer that marked her as immaterial once before. She would meet Emily's eyes, and answer, "Landing."

It wasn't an answer Emily had been expecting, and the question was evident in her eyes. Lena took her hand in her own, lacing them together as she'd done that night, and pulling her close. " _Landing_ ," she repeated, a sob ripping through her chest at finally being whole and alive again, "Finding my way back. Having something to come back to." She leaned forward, tasting Emily again for what felt like a lifetime.

Emily's head fell on Lena's shoulder when they part, and a soft giggle escaped her lips. "We are never drinking wine again," was whispered, and in the light of the hangar-laboratory with their hearts settling into the calm accord of relief, it seemed like the best idea.


End file.
